


'Tis The Season

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Voltron Oneshots [31]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Fever, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Gen, Homelessness, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Teacher Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: It's Christmas time, and Keith doesn't have a home to go to.





	'Tis The Season

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tis the season for cold weather whump. Happy Holidays.

The snow fell thick and fast, and Keith hated it. He’d never been one for ice and snow-- he’d lived in the desert for the first decade of his life where there wasn’t any, just a tiny temperature drop in the winter, and he’d always resented having to bundle up in such thick jackets when the system moved him to a colder climate. Turns out exposure therapy didn’t work out so well; being constantly surrounded by the stuff only made him hate it more. 

He didn’t even get the tiny comfort of having something pretty to look at. The city had a way of turning everything grey and filthy and terrible, and that extended to the snow. It had been plowed out of the roads, built up into great mounds on either side dyed black with dirt from the road and the cars driving by through the slush. On the sidewalks it had been melted by salt, only to freeze over again and turn every walking surface into an ice rink. 

His fingers had long since gone numb where he had them shoved into his coat pockets, as had his toes in his boots. And his nose, and ears, and pretty much everything else. For the first week and a half or so he’d been able to slip into stores for a couple of hours to warm up, but after more than six weeks out here he was far too raggedy to be mistaken for a normal customer. The longest he got was thirty minutes before security showed up to ask him to scram. 

Still, he tried his best to use that time, if only to keep himself from freezing completely solid. 

Honestly he was surprised he’d lasted this long. The temperature was always below zero, and he’d left the foster home with one (1) jacket, one (1) thermal shirt, one (1) pair of jeans, one (1) pair of socks, one (1) set of boxers, and one (1) pair of boots. That was it. That was everything. The last six weeks had seen him diving into random stores, moving block by block to snatch a little warmth and a drink from a water fountain. Digging through trash cans and dumpsters for something that resembled edible. Curling up next to vents at night in hopes that he wouldn’t freeze in his sleep. And, lately, pickpocketing. 

Keith wasn’t proud of that. For the longest time he’d resisted the option, even when he felt like the hunger pangs were actually going to kill him, but now he really didn’t have a choice. 

A cough wracked through his chest, grating against his already shredded throat, but he didn’t remove his hand to cover it. There was no point. His fingers were freezing anyway, and the ones on one hand were curled protectively around a little bundle of rumpled and slightly-damp dollar bills. It had taken him a week and trips all through the city to get enough money, and there was no way he was going to risk losing it when he was so close. 

He just had to make it two more blocks. Two more blocks to the pharmacy and he could get medicine for this awful cold he’d caught in week three. 

At first it had just been sniffles and coughs, which he’d attributed to the cold weather and the damp and dismissed. But it had gotten worse, and worse, and worse, progressing to pounding headaches and muscles that burned and ached and exhaustion that dogged his heels relentlessly. Still he ignored it-- not like he had any other option. 

Then last week he’d actually been so dizzy he fell over (independent of the presence of ice) and realized he had to do something about this. Not a moment too soon either, as the next morning he’d woken up with a fever. 

But it was almost over. He just had to go down this alley, then take a left, then walk a block and take a right, and then he would be at the pharmacy and he could get medicine. He just had to get there. One heavy foot in front of the other. 

He was four steps into the alleyway when a shadow moved in his periphery. Three weeks ago he would’ve been able to react, but now he couldn’t move fast enough before the weight slammed into his left shoulder, forcing him across the alley and up against the freezing brick wall. His breath left him in a whoosh that turned into a cough. His chest burned. 

“Alright, kid,” said a gravelly voice, “This doesn’t have to be hard. Just give me whatever cash you have on you and nobody gets hurt.”

Keith shivered hard and shook his head. He couldn’t get a good look at the mugger with his cheek pressed to the wall the way it was, but even through his jacket he could feel the tip of a knife pressing into the small of his back. 

“Don’t… have any…” he wheezed, still trying to get air into his aching lungs. The air was so cold it felt like inhaling razor blades. God he hated winter. 

The man gave an angry grunt, stinking breath fanning over Keith’s face, before unceremoniously shoving his free hand into Keith’s jacket pocket to check for himself. The first one was empty, but he felt the bills in the second despite Keith’s best efforts to conceal them in his palm. 

“Liar,” the man hissed as he pried the bills from Keith’s icicle fingers. His head spun. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He was just  _ so tired,  _ and he didn’t feel good, and all he’d wanted was some goddamned Aspirin or something to take his fever down but no. No, the universe decided he wasn’t allowed. 

The man let him go and he found himself sinking to the ground, too tired to hold himself up any longer. The mugger disappeared into the city, leaving him there-- a wrecked, shivering, coughing pile of a thirteen-year-old boy with no one and nothing left. 

He had to move. He knew that. The snow was falling again and there was no cover in this alley. Already he could feel the flakes catching in his black hair, eyesight blurring when they landed on his eye lashes. Thankfully he was too tired to cry, otherwise he would’ve had to deal with frozen tears, too. 

Somehow, someway, he found the strength to stand. Then, holding onto the wall for support, he took a step. And another. And another. 

He found his way back to the more populated areas of the city, the shopping centers where people would be shopping for Christmas gifts for their loved ones. Keith thought the words with a certain amount of bitterness he couldn’t hide, not even from himself. He wasn’t here for the warmth or food or anything-- no one here wanted to look at the homeless while they’re Christmas shopping, and he wouldn’t be allowed in the stores for fear of driving away the customers. 

No, he was here because the stores in this area of town liked to pretend they were fancier than they were. Most of them had steps up to the doors and overhangs held up by pillars, and if he was inconspicuous about it, he might be able to find a spot near one and get out of the snow for a bit. 

Thankfully he did. He managed to find a shadowy alcove to the left of the bustling department store entrance, just out of eyeshot of the security guard in the opposite corner. The stone of the walls and the floor was absolutely fucking freezing and felt like it was actively leeching whatever warmth he still had right out of his body, but it was dry and the snow couldn’t reach him here. 

Keith curled up with his back braced in the corner, pulling his knees to his chest and folding his arms between them, putting his head down to rest against his knees. The heat of his breath was barely enough to be felt against his skin, but it was more than he’d been getting, and occasionally if someone used the door closest to him a burst of warm air would defrost him, just for a moment. 

He doesn’t know how long he sat there for. He was in a bit of a haze, the fever making him shiver so violently his teeth chattered and making everything sort of… indistinct. Maybe he dozed. Maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter much. There was something heavy and sad in his chest that only sank deeper with every fit of hoarse coughing. 

It had taken him a whole week to collect enough money for one box of Aspirin. This time it would probably take him longer with this illness making him slow and weak, if he managed it at all. It was only going to get colder out here. Maybe it would be better if he just let himself fall asleep and just not wake up again. It would be easier that way, for sure. 

“Keith?”

He raised his head blearily when he heard someone call his name, half certain it wasn’t actually meant for him. But no, there was a man about twenty feet away and coming closer, looking right at him. Everything was a bit blurry, but he could make out dark hair and warm grey eyes. 

“Mr. Shirogane?” He rasped, blinking a few times in surprise. The fact that it might’ve been a fever dream occurred to him, but his teacher was smiling at him so brightly it could’ve only been real. 

“Keith! I knew it was you! Where have you been? You haven’t been in class for awhile.”

Right. Ex-teacher. 

Keith shrugged and cast his eyes off to the side, away from where Mr. Shirogane was standing in front of him. What was he supposed to say? That he hadn’t been going to class because he was homeless now? 

The first couple of nights he’d considered going to Mr. Shirogane for help, actually. Out of all the adults Keith had known the last three years since his father's death, he was the only one that actually seemed trustworthy. Who actually seemed to care. But he had no idea how to contact him, and the Garrison wouldn’t have allowed him on campus without his uniform, which was still with his foster parents. It just hadn’t been possible.

“Keith?” When he risked a glance back at his face, Mr. Shirogane’s smile had faded. Now he looked concerned. “You ok, bud? You’re shivering pretty hard.”

Keith fisted his fingers into the sides of his jacket. Try as he might he couldn’t stop from feeling just a little hint of frustration. Talking meant he had to expose his face to the wind, and he kinda wanted Mr. Shirogane to leave him alone so that he could go back to his huddled ball. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fi--” A sneeze interrupted his lie, immediately followed by a coughing fit so violent it left him tipped forward on his knees and gasping for breath. When he came out of it his teacher was kneeling next to him, one hand rubbing his back and a strange look on his face, and Keith couldn’t help but lean into it just a little. What, the man was warm, sue him.

“Jeez, you look pretty sick. Where are your parents?”

To Keith’s surprise, tears began to bead at the corners of his eyes. He was so frustrated. He just wanted to sleep and stop feeling so shitty, not tell his favorite teacher he was an orphan no one wanted. So he just shook his head and rubbed at his aching eyes with cold fists. 

Mr. Shirogane prodded him a bit, not unkindly. “Come on, Keith. I need an answer.”

“Mn,” said Keith. It hurt to swallow, or breathe, or blink. Anything really. He’d been avoiding telling the truth or trying to contact his social worker, afraid of what would happen if she found out he’d been so unbearable the family couldn’t even wait for her to come get him before getting rid of him, but what did it matter now? He let out a sigh of defeat, breath fogging in the air. 

“Foster parents,” he mumbled eventually, sagging back against the wall. “They kicked me out.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look on Mr. Shirogane’s face. He was probably going to walk away and leave him to sort himself out. Or call his social worker for him. Maybe if he was really lucky he’d wait with him until she showed up. But he wouldn’t stay too long. He had Christmas shopping to do, probably.

“So you’ve been out here?  _ Alone?  _ Since you stopped coming to class?” His voice was thick with something Keith was too out of it to try and puzzle out. 

“Mhm.”

For a moment there was silence. The city buzzed around them, people chattering and feet pounding through the slushy snow built up on the pavement, and Keith smothered a yawn into his fist. He was so tired. 

Then Mr. Shirogane took a deeeeeeeep breath. “Do you think you can stand up?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

Carefully the teacher took his hands and pulled him upright, forcing Keith to open his eyes and squint at the glow from the snowfall. He swayed for a moment before Mr. Shirogane wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Sadly no warmth could be felt through the layers of jackets between them, but he could imagine it, he supposed. 

“Ok, come on bud.” 

Keith went where he was guided without argument. Probably going to sit on the curb while he called Keith’s social worker. 

But they walked for much longer than that, until his knees were trembling. He was very close to collapsing completely when they finally stopped and he heard a car door open. 

“Climb on in.”

He did as he was told, shivering at the touch of cold leather. The interior of the car was almost all grey, the windows outside white with snow, which was all blurring together. He wanted to lean his head against the door and let himself float away, but as tired as he was, it wasn’t quite safe. Not yet. So he waited until he heard the other door open and close, then opened his mouth.

“Mr. Shirogane?”

“Shiro, please.”

Keith blinked several times, trying to decode the statement before it clicked. “Ok. Shiro. Where’re we goin’?”

Shiro started the car and fiddled with the temperature dials. “My house. Is that alright with you?”

“I guess.” He couldn’t think much about it, because Shiro had hit a button and his seat was beginning to warm up and it was turning him to complete mush. 

“It won’t take long to get there. The car will be warm in a few minutes.”

Keith gave a little grunt of acknowledgement. True to his word within five minutes the car was beginning to warm up, slowly, and Keith could feel himself slumping as he defrosted. He hadn’t been this warm in weeks. Dimly he wondered if Shiro would be angry if he took a nap, but before he could decide one way or another the car was stopping and turning off. 

Keith was immediately embarrassed by the whine that escaped his throat, but Shiro didn’t snap at him. 

“I know,” was what he said instead. “It’ll be warm inside, just another minute or two.”

Shiro helped him out of the car and guided him towards the front door. What he could see through the snowstorm was a low beige building-- one of the Garrison’s staff housing. Technically off campus, so he probably wouldn’t get in trouble for being there. Probably. 

Shiro unlocked the door one-handed and pushed it open, and suddenly Keith was drowning in warmth. He wanted to fall flat to the floor and just pass out, but Shiro was still pulling him forward with the arm around his shoulder.

“Adam!”

Another person appeared from around a corner. All Keith registered was blonde hair, and Shiro’s words melted into a low rumble that really wasn’t helping with the whole staying awake situation. Thankfully their conversation didn’t last long, but then someone was tugging on his jacket and he instinctively resisted. 

Even on the edge of hypothermia and with his head spinning with fever, he knew better than that. He’d learned the first night he tried to stay in a homeless shelter and seen the leer on one of the volunteers faces. 

The hand stopped pulling. “Keith? Do you wanna take your jacket off? I have a blanket here for you.”

He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, trying to make himself aware enough to take in the situation, but all he could really discern from the room was brown. Was it safe? He didn’t know. 

“Do you want to keep your jacket on?”

No, he didn’t. It was dirty and a size too small for him. He shook his head, and with a bit of trepidation, he peeled the jacket from his shoulders. Shiro took it from him, then a moment later an unbelievably soft blanket was draped over his shoulders. Next he was led to a couch that he sank into, and everything was so soft and cozy and warm. Maybe he actually had died out there in the snow and now he was in heaven. That would’ve had to be a miracle, considering how the foster parents had insisted he was going to hell. 

“Can I take your boots off?”

“Mn.”

Shiro took this as a yes and carefully unlaced Keith’s ratty, hole filled boots, followed by peeling off his socks. When he withdrew Keith pulled his feet up to cross underneath him, his toes beginning to warm and tingle. For a long moment or two Keith just sat there, floating, and was ninety percent of the way to sleep when Shiro shook his shoulder.

He groaned, displeased, but Shiro wouldn’t relent.

“Come on, bud. Just take these and then you can sleep, ok? They’ll help with your fever.”

Somehow he managed to peel his eyes open. A blob was in front of him which he assumed was Shiro, holding out a couple of pills and a glass of water. By some miracle he managed to swallow the pills down his sore throat without spilling the liquid all over himself, then Shiro’s hand returned to guide him to lie down, head on a surprisingly comfy throw pillow. 

As he tumbled into sleep, Keith tried to remind himself not to get too comfortable. That in a couple of hours Shiro would wake him up and tell him that his social worker was there to get him and he’d have to leave the blanket behind and go. But he was unconscious before the idea could really take hold. 

* * *

Keith was awoken an indeterminate amount of time later by the front door closing. He was frozen before he was even completely awake, cold fear and adrenaline leaking into his limbs as he held perfectly still, eyes screwed shut, and didn’t make a sound. 

Footsteps proceeded past him and into another room, voices muffled as whoever it was engaged in conversation with another person. A plastic bag rustled. Then the footsteps passed by the couch again before going into a different room. A door closed, and there was silence. 

Carefully Keith peeled his eyes open. He still felt like absolute shit, but he could at least distinguish his surroundings now. The living room he was in was cozy, walls painted warm brown and the soft furniture all matching. Little bits and bobs decorated the place-- a couple of aviation magazines, a small pile of weights in the corner, a wreath on the back of the front door. 

Sitting on his knees at the coffee table in the middle of the floor was Shiro, a ridiculously concentrated look on his face as he peeled tags off of a pile of clothes. 

Keith’s full intention was to roll over, tighten the cocoon of warm blanket around himself, press his face into the couch cushions, and go right back to sleep. But his body betrayed him and he coughed, making Shiro look up from his task. 

He positively beamed, which made no sense whatsoever to Keith. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Keith coughed again and winced. “A little better, I guess.” Definitely more coherent, at least. 

“That’s good.” Shiro yanked the final tag off of his clothes pile and set it aside. “Do you want to take a shower? I’ve got some soup on the stove, but it’ll be another half an hour or so until it’s ready.”

A shower sounded heavenly. He knew he didn’t smell even remotely nice after so long, but a shower wouldn’t really help if he had to get right back into his filthy clothes again. Thankfully Shiro seemed to understand what he was thinking.

“You can put these on after,” he said, prodding the pile of clothes. “I had my boyfriend run out and get you some things while you were asleep.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He immediately cringed after his terrible sentence, bracing himself for Shiro to frown and make a pointed demand that he be more polite before he received anymore kindness. After all, no one liked an ungrateful brat. 

But Shiro didn’t. He just smiled. 

“It’s no problem. So yes to the shower?”

Keith nodded, and with some difficulty, untangled himself from the blanket enough to sit up. He felt a bit hollow and trembly, though whether it was from the fever or hunger he couldn’t tell. The way he started shivering the moment the blanket was gone was definitely from the fever though. 

“Here, I’ll show you where it is.”

The house wasn’t that big. The bathroom was the second door in the small hallway Shiro led him down, carpet plush between his toes. He tried his best to pay attention while Shiro showed him how the water controls worked and set the clothing pile on the counter.

“Use whichever soaps you want, neither of us mind. Same for towels. Call if you need anything.”

“Ok, thank you.”

With one last smile, Shiro left, pulling the door shut behind him. Keith made sure to lock it before fiddling with the shower. 

God,  _ warm water.  _ He’d never take showers for granted again. For a while he just stood there on his shaky legs, basking in it, before finally moving to scrub the grime from his skin and the grease out of his hair. It was gross, to be frank, and for the first couple of layers of soap the water ran off black and brown. But gradually it became cleaner, until eventually he was back to his normal shade of pale rather than haphazardly tan from dirt smudges. 

Then he sat down and enjoyed the warm water a bit longer. 

Finally, when he figured he couldn’t get away with staying any longer without someone banging on the door, he climbed out and rushed to put the new clothes on to combat the fever chills. The longsleeve shirt and sweatpants were a bit big on him, but clean and not threadbare. He bunched the ends of the sleeves into his hands. 

When he finally ventured back into the living room Shiro was there, carefully setting bowls of soup on the coffee table while another man with sandy hair and square framed glasses laid out spoons and a tray of rolls. Keith paused in the hall, half behind a wall, and watched for a moment. The other man was presumably the boyfriend, Adam, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

After a minute or two Shiro caught sight of him, and something visibly softened on his face when he saw Keith clean again. 

“Keith, hey. Have you met Adam? He teaches at the Garrison too.”

Keith took a closer look at the other man, with his sharp features and dark skin. It was a little hard to place him without the Garrison uniform, but he did look vaguely familiar. So he nodded a bit and gave a tiny wave, which he hoped wouldn’t be as impolite as offering to shake a hand when he was sick. Adam smiled and waved back.

“Hey,” he said in greeting, “Are you hungry?”

Keith’s stomach growled in response, but he didn’t move from his spot yet. 

“You guys probably don’t want to eat with me,” he murmured, followed by a cough. “I might get you sick.”

Shiro simply flapped a hand at him, dismissive. “Nah, it’s fine. We’re not sharing bowls or anything.”

Well, if Shiro said it was ok… 

He crept forward a few steps, then a few more, until he was sitting cross-legged at the coffee table with his bowl of steaming soup in front of him. Shiro and Adam kept up pleasant conversation while they ate, leaving Keith to inhale his food in peace, only pausing when Shiro noticed him still shivering and stood up to retrieve the blanket from earlier. He draped it over Keith’s shoulders again before returning to his bowl. 

He still felt like he might be dreaming, or dead. There was no other way he could’ve gone from cold and dirty and hungry on the streets to warm and clean and fed in only a matter of hours. Good things like this didn’t just  _ happen,  _ especially not to him. 

When the meal was over he was no closer to figuring out that particular problem, but his eyelids were sagging again and he was finding it difficult to care. Still he made himself move to start gathering the dishes. 

“Wait, Keith, what are you doing?” 

He looked down at the still seated Shiro and his baffled expression and frowned. 

“Um… doing the dishes?” Was that not obvious? Was there something else he had to do first? What had he done wrong? 

Shiro’s face became indecipherable, and for a moment Keith was frozen, until Adam stood and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, I do the dishes around here. You’re still sick, so just take it easy, ok?”

Keith didn’t get it. Dishes were an assigned chore at almost every home he’d ever been in, and none of them had cared how tired he was or if he was sick or sore or covered in bruises, he still had to do them. He didn’t understand, but a lot of incomprehensible things had been happening today, so this may as well join them. He let Adam take the stack of bowls and spoons from him and went back to the couch when Shiro guided him. 

“It’s not too late yet,” he was saying as Keith stretched back out on the sofa, “So you should be alright to nap for a few more hours before you go to bed.” 

Instead of walking away like Keith expected, Shiro knelt in front of him and reached out a hand. He went slow so Keith didn’t flinch, but he did track the limb carefully as Shiro moved it forward and pressed the cool palm against his forehead, under his bangs, and frowned. 

“Think you’d be up for a doctor's visit tomorrow?” He asked. “Just to be sure?”

“Tomorrow?” Keith mirrored Shiro’s frown, though his was significantly more confused than concerned. “What do you mean? When is my social worker coming to get me?”

Shiro’s eyes, Keith was noticing, tended to turn down at the corners when he was sad. 

“I already called her, Keith. You’ll be staying with me for a while. Unless you’d prefer not to, of course.”

And that was just too much information for Keith’s feverish brain. The surprise at being asked for his preference was forgotten with the knowledge that, at least for now, he was going to stay with Shiro. So, at least for tonight, he could relax and let himself sleep without worrying (too much) about what was going to happen when he woke up. 

“Mn. Ok.” 

He was already fading fast. 

“Goodnight, Keith.”


End file.
